


Times That Try Men's Souls: Blair

by elaine



Series: Times That Try Men's Souls [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-30
Updated: 2003-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a dramatic event, Blair needs to process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Times That Try Men's Souls: Blair

 

The first time Jim kissed me, it was just lucky that I was leaning back against a wall, otherwise I might have fallen over backwards. It came out of nowhere. One minute we were talking - about what, I have no idea, now - and then he leaned in and kissed me.

It wasn't the kind of kiss a guy gives another guy. Not a straight guy, anyway. Nor was it the full-on mouth, tongues and teeth that, yes, I'd had a passing acquaintance with, though not lately. It was just a little smooch against my temple, just above my eyebrow. I blinked.

Jim looked at me calmly, as though it was nothing out of the ordinary, and then I saw the smug amusement in his eyes. I laughed and shoved at his shoulder, and he chuckled. That was the end of it.

He kissed me quite a few times in those early days. Always completely out of the blue. Sometimes I even managed to surprise him with a kiss or two. It may sound strange, but it was one of those things between us that I simply didn't question. Jim has always been a very tactile kind of guy. Always touching me. I liked it that, for such a macho guy, he wasn't hung up on that kind of thing.

Then, around the time that the diss started to become such a bone of contention between us, and especially after Alex, the kissing stopped. He didn't touch me as much, either. I missed it, but I wasn't really in the right space to push the issue. And then the diss blew up in our faces and for a while I really thought it was over between us.

Jim, bless him, came to the rescue - I didn't imagine for a moment that he wasn't behind Simon's grand gesture - and then I was busy going to the Academy, learning the ropes of my new job. There wasn't much time for fooling around.

And then, one awful, glorious day, he kissed me again.

* * *

I hadn't been sure about becoming a cop. It wasn't that I thought the job wasn't important, or that I didn't want to be with Jim, to work with him; I just wasn't sure what it would mean. Was it just some giant scam to allow me to carry on riding with him? Would it still be the same old "stay in the truck, Sandburg" routine?

That didn't happen. From the moment I graduated the Academy and started working in Major Crime for real, Jim treated me like a real cop. A real partner. I was so proud of him, because I knew that it had to be hard for him. He has a protective streak a mile wide where I'm concerned.

Okay, I was the _junior_ partner, but that's normal. After six months, even that was beginning to be less obvious; much faster than I'd expected. Sometimes, though, I'd get that vibe - that he really _wanted_ to tell me to stay in the truck. He never did. Have I ever mentioned that I love the big lug?

That day, I could almost feel the words branded on my back as I pounded down the street after the perp, my gun already drawn. Not that there was any likelihood of me shooting him - there were too many pedestrians around. But the call had been for an _armed_ robbery, and Jim would fry my ass if I didn't have my weapon ready.

I'd been first out of the truck, first into the alley and, somehow, I'd managed to stay ahead of Jim. I think he ran into someone, but I didn't risk looking back. As I ran, I muttered directions so Jim would know what was going down. Just as I'd predicted, the perp turned into a narrow alley. I was only a few feet behind him now.

Then everything started to go wrong. Spectacularly wrong. Just as the perp came level with a side door, it flew open and a girl catapulted into him. They both staggered, the girl yelled. The perp must have known it had cost him whatever hope he had of getting away from me. He grabbed the girl around the throat, pulling her back against his body, and brought his gun up to point at the side of her head.

I knew what I had to do. By now it was becoming instinct. I brought up my gun, in both hands, and thumbed the safety catch free. "Police. Throw down your weapon and release the girl."

Somewhere in my head, repeating like a mantra, I heard 'do it, just do as I tell you'. This was bad. The worst I'd had to face so far. The girl was right in front of him and almost as tall. If I had to shoot, the only place I could aim for was the kid's face. And he _was_ a kid; not much older than his hostage.

He was also high on something. There was sweat running down his face, and he seemed almost elated, excited in a way that wasn't just due to the adrenaline rush. At a guess, I'd say he'd been popping meth.

"Fuck you." He shifted his grip on the girl's throat to pull her even closer. She sobbed and closed her eyes.

I had to calm him down. "Come on, man. You don't want to do this. I don't want to hurt you." I pitched my voice a little lower, smiled at him, trying to connect to something in that over-stressed mind. "You don't want to hurt the girl. Just let her go and we'll talk about this."

"No way, pig. Soon's I let her go you're gonna shoot me. You're gonna _shoot_ me!" His eyes were darting around. Looking for an escape route? I decided it was more likely that he was simply too high to think straight. Much too high to take in the reassurances I was offering. "You're gonna shoot me, man. You're gonna shoot me!"

He was psyching himself up to explode, and I knew I had to defuse the situation. "Tell you what. How about we both put down our guns?"

My offer made no impression on him at all. "How about you watch me blow her head off, if you don't fuck off outta here?"

The girl was staring at me hopelessly. Behind her, the boy was almost vibrating with hopped up energy. I saw his finger start to squeeze the trigger. If he fired, the girl was dead. Calmly, steadily, I fired, twice.

The girl's body jerked, and so did the boy's, then he was falling while the girl threw herself down against the base of the alley wall. I lowered my weapon to cover the boy and walked forward, kicked his gun away from his outstretched hand and knelt to check for a pulse. I knew there wouldn't be one.

* * *

The next few hours, Jim hardly left my side. I was aware of his concern, the way he stood beside me so protectively. The way he shielded me from other officers, the onlookers, the press. I didn't feel anything.

He told me once that I had to distance myself, to do whatever was necessary to get the job done. I did what was necessary, and Jim made sure that nobody got close enough to break through the barriers I'd put up.

The closest I came to breaking was when Megan hugged me in front of the whole of Major Crime, but I couldn't let them all down by falling apart in front of them. It was bad enough that they were all looking at me like they expected me to cry like a baby. Did they really think I was that weak?

We went into Simon's office, and he told us something about IA being on the case faster than expected. I knew there'd be an investigation, but usually it would be a few hours before anything happened. I let the conversation wash over me, not really caring what IA had on their agenda. It seemed pretty damned unimportant right now.

Jim patted me on the shoulder and reminded me we had paperwork to do. Like, when didn't we? I went back to my desk and started writing up my report. Thank god for computers, is all I can say. When my hands started to shake, at least it didn't show on the screen. If I'd had to write it by hand, the report would have been completely illegible.

* * *

The interview was conducted by Det Alan Fiedler. An unremarkable name, but one I thought I'd remember for the rest of my life. He read through my report, shuffled the papers around a bit, and cleared his throat.

"You state that you entered the alley a few feet behind the deceased."

"That's right" I tried not to flinch at the term. We still didn't know who he was.

"And, your partner?" He frowned down at the page he was holding, "Ellison. He was behind you."

"Yes. He'd fallen behind."

"So Det Ellison was not in the alley, and didn't see you actually shoot." He wrote a few words on the margin of my report. "The only witness was the girl."

"That's what I said in my report." So he was going to try to prove I'd fired unnecessarily? Somehow I doubted he'd get much support from the girl. I realised I didn't know her name either.

"Yes." Fiedler stared at me. "Are there any amendments you'd like to make to your report, Det Sandburg?"

There was something about the way he emphasised my title that puzzled me for a moment. Then I got it. He knew about how I'd got into Major Crime, and that I hadn't been a cop very long. He thought there was something shady going on and was going to try to force me to admit it.

I smiled coldly. "I don't need to change anything. It all happened exactly as I stated."

"So you maintain that it was you, and not Det Ellison who killed the young man."

For a moment all I heard was 'you killed the young man', then the sense of what he'd said came through. "Are you crazy? My weapon was fired. My hands had blowback on them. Who else would have shot him? Besides, why should I lie about it?"

"Precisely." He cleared his throat again. "You identified yourself as a police officer to the deceased?"

"Of course. The girl can verify that, as well as confirm that it was me who shot the boy."

"The girl - Rowena - is not able to make a statement at this time." His eyes dared me to comment.

I shrugged. They'd find out soon enough that their whole conspiracy theory was nothing but a crock of shit.

He pursed his lips "You maintain that the boy was about to fire his weapon."

"Yes." I repressed a sigh. I could see how this was going to go. Jim was an expert at this, and I'd learned not only to recognise the techniques, but to use them myself. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Fiedler smiled thinly. "Let's just start again at the beginning."

* * *

It got worse. A lot worse. After circling round the formalities for a while, Fiedler went on the attack. It wasn't fierce or emotional, like I'd seen with some interrogations, but it was relentless. Was I sure the victim had intended to shoot? Could I have mistaken the movement of his trigger finger? 'After all, Det Sandburg, you are a very junior detective'. How many other people had I shot? Could the stress of the situation have made me over react? Did I accept that I'd put an innocent bystander - a _girl_ \- at risk?

I kept my cool. I had no other choice if I wanted to get out of here in one piece. Somehow I knew that if I let even a hint of emotion - _any_ emotion - rise to the surface, all the others would come boiling out and overwhelm me.

Just when I was getting close to breaking point, Simon came to the rescue. The interview had been going nowhere for a while, just the same questions over and over, from slightly different angles, or paraphrased, in an attempt to catch me out. Fiedler accepted defeat gracefully. I stood and headed for the door, blindly intent on getting out of there.

Jim was waiting outside. "Chief, I'm going down to Hatcher's Deli. You want to come with?"

Nausea nearly finished the job Fiedler had started. I muttered some excuse, then realised I'd told him I was going to the morgue. Oh god, why had I said that? Then, of course, Jim said he'd go with me, and it was too late to back out. Besides, a small part of me told me I'd killed the kid; the least I could do was face up to him.

I almost lost it when Dan uncovered the boy's face. It isn't pretty, what a .38 calibre bullet can do. What I had done. And now 'the perp' had a name. Otis Washington. Funny how that little bit of information made it all so much worse.

Jim got me out of there pretty fast. Once we were in the corridor I realised he'd started talking about lunch again. My stomach heaved and I hurriedly stepped away from him. "I'm not hungry, Jim. I'll go finish..."

"Simon told me we should take the rest of the day off."

"Because of me?" Oh, god... were they all waiting for me to fall apart? The answer was almost certainly 'yes'. Hell, someone was probably running a book on how long it would take. I felt sick, ashamed. Did they think so little of me?

Jim's voice dropped, became warm with concern. "Nobody's judging you, Blair. D'you think any of us had an easy time, the first time we had to kill someone? We've all been there."

I shuddered. The first time. Not the last time, the words implied, and of course it was true. This would happen again. I didn't even know how I'd survive _this_ time.

"How about we talk about this somewhere else?" Jim was right. I couldn't stay here, couldn't face the knowing looks of the other cops. He was waiting for my response, but all I could bring myself to do was nod in submission. He lifted a hand to my shoulder and steered me down the hallway, past a couple of uniformed officers and into the lift.

* * *

All the way home, Jim didn't say a word. I know he was expecting me to lose it when we got back to the loft, but I didn't. I couldn't. He reached for me, but I only had one thing on my mind, and I ducked past him with a muttered excuse and hightailed it to the bathroom. It had been a long day, and toilet breaks had been few and far between.

When I came out of the bathroom, he passed me a beer, and I took it automatically as I went past him to the couch. I took a sip and it tasted disgusting. Jim was sitting on the loveseat watching me and trying to look like he wasn't. Part of me loved him for it, but another part was irritated. Both emotions were heavily blanketed in an insulating layer of numbness that made them just a distant murmur. Mostly, I just felt nothing.

"I'll make some lasagne for dinner. Okay?" Jim's voice roused me long enough to nod in agreement, and then he was in the kitchen and I was, at least nominally, alone.

Almost immediately, it seemed, he was back with the food. Eating on the couch. It must be serious. I suppressed a spurt of hysteria. I couldn't go there yet. Somehow I'd managed to shred the label off the beer bottle - there were flakes of paper all over the floor in front of me, but I couldn't remember doing it. Jim was trying very hard not to notice the mess.

He ate for a while. I didn't. I could see he was trying to work up the courage to say something, and hoped he'd fail. I should have known better. Jim would do what he had to do, and no doubt he was blaming himself for this. When he cleared his throat I stepped in fast.

"Don't. I can't talk about it just yet. I need to... process." I didn't look at him, because if I did he'd know I was lying. I wasn't processing, I was repressing. Jim knew all about that. Maybe he could give me lessons.

Surprisingly, all he did was offer me another beer. I declined. He went into the kitchen and it sounded like he was washing those dishes to within an inch of their lives.

* * *

It seems strange now, looking back, that an evening could seem so long and yet pass so quickly. I didn't pay much attention to what Jim was doing. I didn't want him to be here, but the only alternative was to go into my room and shut the door, and I didn't think I could handle being closed in like that.

Once in a while, he'd put a mug of coffee in front of me. I guess I drank some of it, but if so, the caffeine didn't have much effect. It was so quiet. Like a wake. A wake for Otis Washington. A wake for Blair Sandburg. Something inside me had died, but I didn't know what.

When I noticed him yawning I realised it must be late. Really late. Without much hope, I told him to go to bed. To my surprise, he went without arguing. After a while I thought maybe I should turn off the lights so they wouldn't disturb him.

Sitting in the dark, something started to happen. Images flashed in front of my eyes. They say a drowning man's life flashes before his eyes. I knew that it didn't. But that was exactly what was happening. Maybe I _was_ drowning. There were faces, lots of them. Naomi's friends, lovers, people we lived with. Kids I knew at school, at university. Then Jim. Simon. The others in Major Crime, but most of all Jim.

Finally, there was Otis Washington, his face gleaming with sweat and contorted with excitement and fear. Otis Washington, his face sprouting twin blossoms of blood, in the moment that I shot him. Lying on the ground with a scarlet puddle forming a wet halo around his head. On a mortuary tray, sanitised, his body already looking like the mass of meat and bone that it was, as though it was impossible that this inanimate flesh had ever been alive.

What had he thought of me, if he thought at all, in the moment I pulled the trigger? What was Naomi going to think when I told her? Oh god... Naomi. How could I tell her that? I _would_ tell her; I had to. A secret like that between us would destroy all the trust we shared. But how could I tell her that the life she had brought into the world had taken another's life?

Pain flared up in me, and I doubled over, but made no sound. I didn't want Jim coming downstairs. I didn't want to do this; didn't want to feel this. Why couldn't I just push it all down, the way Jim did? I already knew the answer to that, but right then, it seemed a better prospect than feeling.

Then disgust washed over the pain. Didn't I owe Otis this much, if not more? I'd killed him. Was I really so selfish that I could just walk away and pretend it meant nothing? I almost laughed when I heard Naomi's voice, talking about karmic burdens and cleansing. This was karma like I'd never known it, not even when I went to tell Janet's fiance how she'd died because she'd been helping me get information about Cyclops Oil.

So, then. I would process, like I'd told Jim. I crossed my legs under me and closed my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out.

'I'm sorry' I said, to Otis' ruined face. 'I'm sorry I killed you. You didn't give me any choice.'

'There's always a choice.' Naomi told me. How old had I been when she'd found me with a bruised face and a bloodied nose? Seven? Eight? I'd finally stood up to the boy who'd bullied me for having long hair. A week later I'd convinced Naomi to let me cut it short, and had never grown it long again until just before I met Jim. 'There's always a choice, Blair. Make sure it's the right choice.'

All right. I could have let him kill me. I could have let him kill the girl. If I had, what then? Jim would have been alone, without me to help him with his senses. Rowena's brother would have been alone. Otis might have killed Jim. If he'd escaped, he would almost certainly have killed again, eventually.

I looked into Otis' accusing eyes. 'I'm sorry. But I made the right choice. I just wish I hadn't had to.'

He nodded grudgingly and faded into the darkness.

* * *

If I thought Otis was the only ghost I had to appease, I soon learned my mistake. Another coffee and a trip to the bathroom left me ill-prepared to face my own reflection in the mirror. I retreated hurriedly back to the couch. Shaving was going to be a bitch if I couldn't use the mirror any more. Maybe Jim would do the honours for a while.

Unfortunately, I followed myself into the living room. When I couldn't ignore myself any longer, I sighed. 'What do you want from me?'

I didn't answer myself.

Reluctantly, I looked into the face of the man I'd been when I first met Jim. Younger, thinner, with an innocent eagerness and restless energy that I'd somehow lost long before I'd killed Otis. No wonder Jim had kept calling me kid. What had happened to him?

'You know what happened.' The kid looked at me with reproachful eyes. 'Every choice you made since you met Jim has led you here.'

Choices again. 'And I'd make them all again. Meeting Jim is the best thing that ever happened to me.'

'Are you sure?' The kid started counting on his fingers. 'What about the friends who died because you got involved with a cop? _I_ died, remember? Naomi was put in danger because you were undercover with Jim. Jack Kelso was shot. I was shot, poisoned _and_ drugged. And what about the diss? My career?'

'What about all the people we've helped?' I was starting to get annoyed with myself. 'What about Jim? All I ever wanted, for _years_ , was to find a sentinel. I thought I knew it all, but Jim taught me _everything_. I knew nothing.'

'Was it worth it? You didn't only kill Otis, you killed _me_.'

'Get over it. You would have had to grow up some day.' It pleased me to see the outrage on the kid's face. Had I ever really been that naive? That selfish? The answer, sadly, was probably yes. 'I'd do it all again, in a heartbeat. Jim is worth it.'

A grin spread across the kid's face. 'Just so's you know. Don't forget it.' Then I was gone.

Was I really that annoying? I'd have to ask Jim some time.

* * *

I was in the alley, standing by a dark patch of congealed blood. I could smell the butcher's shop odour and wondered how Jim could stand it, even with his senses dialled down.

'So tell me how it went down.' Ted Solowkovski, my firearms instructor from the Academy was standing beside me. 'Did you remember my training?'

'Yeah.' I shifted from foot to foot, reluctant to go over it all again. Hadn't I done that enough already? 'I did everything just the way you taught me.'

'Then tell me. Walk me through it.' He looked down at me sternly. It was an order. 'It's going to happen again, you know. You and Ellison... you're both trouble magnets alone. Together...' he shook his head. 'You'll kill again. You have to know that. You have to know that you did everything you should have, so you'll be prepared the next time.'

I started to describe what had happened, but he shook his head. 'Show me. I'll be the kid.'

So I walked to the end of the alley. 'I came around the corner, and you were just a few feet ahead of me...'

As I described what happened, Ted acted out Otis' part. I acted my part. In a few minutes, he was standing where Otis had stood, his arm around an imaginary throat, his gun pointing at an imaginary head. 'So, this is it. He's going to shoot. What do you do?'

With my gun pointed dead centre at his face, I squeezed the trigger twice, nice and gentle, like he'd taught me. My stance was perfect; again, just like he'd taught me. Two splashes of blood appeared on his face and he pitched over backwards. I walked to where he was lying, my weapon trained unerringly at the centre of his chest until I'd kicked his gun away.

When I knelt beside him, he smiled, though his eyes remained lifeless and blood ran down into them from his forehead and cheekbone. 'I'm so proud of you, son.'

God! I jerked back into the couch, wanting to reject that last... what? Vision? I didn't know, and I didn't care. That wasn't me. It couldn't be _me_.

Slowly my breathing returned to normal. I heard Jim stirring upstairs, and practically willed my heartbeat to slow. I didn't want to wake him now. Especially now.

When I was calmer, I forced myself to look at what had just happened. I compared it with my memories of this morning... yesterday morning, now. And, yes, it was there. That tiny, shameful memory. That sense of pleasure, that I was doing everything right. The correct procedure, the correct stance; everything by the book. The fleeting thought, barely conscious, that Ted would be proud of me. I'd just killed a man, and I was thinking about how _good_ I was?

It was suddenly too much. I staggered to the bathroom, and probably would have been sick, if I'd eaten anything since breakfast yesterday. Instead I gulped a handful of water and returned to the kitchen to pour myself another coffee. It was bitter from having stood half the night, but I didn't care.

Like any halfway honest person, I was willing to admit that there were some things about myself I didn't particularly like, but this... I didn't recognise the part of me that thought like that. I didn't want to accept that part of me, but it was there, inside me. Had probably always been there, unacknowledged.

What could I do with this particular bit of knowledge? What _should_ I do?

* * *

I don't know how much later it was that I heard Jim come downstairs, but I wasn't any nearer finding an answer than I had ever been. My mind was spinning in circles, and I still felt more like an observer than a participant in my own life. I looked over at him and realised that it must be getting light, since I could actually see him. It was almost morning. Almost time to get out of bed and get ready for work.

When he came over, after a side trip to the bathroom, it came as no surprise. He sat on the coffee table, facing me, and put his hands on my knees, staring at me intently. He said my name hesitantly, and knowing how hard this was for him, I tried to meet his gaze without flinching.

"You did absolutely the right thing. I would have done the same in your place. You saved that girl's life, and probably your own as well, and... and..." he swallowed audibly, "your life is important to me, okay?"

He was trying so hard. Jim might not be the most eloquent guy, but his face told me how much he loved me, how worried he was. I tried to smile, to reassure him. "I know, Jim. I know. And, given the same situation, I'd do it again. But the world's a different place for me, now."

Jim nodded slowly. Of course he knew. He must have been through some kind of soul searching like this. He'd said as much yesterday afternoon. "Taking a life... killing someone... it isn't - shouldn't be - easy. But you did it to protect an innocent bystander. Don't ever forget that."

Good old Sentinel pragmatism. Defend the tribe. And he was right. It wasn't enough for me right now, but someday perhaps it would be. I was trying to think of something to say when he patted my knee and told me to go to bed.

I went. There was nothing else left for me to do. Maybe after I'd had some sleep I could find a way to talk to him about it, but right now I could hardly form a coherent thought.

It was okay, until I'd almost reached my room. The door was partially ajar, and inside it was still very dark. It reminded me of a mausoleum I'd seen once, and it stopped me dead in my tracks. I didn't want to go in there, but I didn't have a choice. I was still trying to make myself take that next step, when Jim came up behind me and pulled me around and into his arms.

Just to feel the warmth of his body against mine was the most wonderful thing. Then I felt his lips brush against my temple. It had been so long since he'd done that, and it felt so good... I moaned, tears flooding behind my closed eyelids, and wrapped my arms around him, I never wanted to let go, never wanted to be as alone again as I had been all night.

He kissed me again and whispered something, but all I could make out was my name. I opened my eyes and looked up at him, my head still resting against his shoulder. He looked so concerned for me that my vision blurred with more tears, and I tried to smile, to reassure him that I'd be okay, but the words wouldn't come.

The next kiss fell on my lips, and it almost destroyed me. I tried to say his name, but there was only this needy sound as Jim cupped my cheek in his palm. His lips were soft, and so gentle and sweet, and the kiss seemed to last an eternity.

How long had I wanted this? If I were honest, I'd have to say almost from the moment I'd met him. Somehow it had never seemed like a good idea, even after we became friends. I hadn't minded that much; being Jim's friend was such an incredible privilege that it had been enough for me. Wanting more had seemed almost greedy.

One kiss had changed everything. Just that one hint of what it would be like to be Jim's lover, and nothing less than that would ever be enough again. When it ended, I whispered his name and silently begged for more. I could see the doubt in his face, but I knew he wouldn't refuse me.

This time, something else stirred between us. I was far too exhausted to feel desire, but hunger, need, flared through my body and I flung myself into those darker emotions with something akin to relief. It was better than feeling nothing.

Somehow Jim managed to get us into my bedroom and undressed. If I contributed anything to this process, I'm not aware that I did. The moment that his body covered mine, I went crazy, thrusting up against him with all the finesse of the table-leg obsessed dog he'd once named me. It wasn't one of my prouder moments, and of course, it didn't last long.

Jim was still moving above me, his muscles rippling sensually under my hands. He was so beautiful, _felt_ so wonderful. We were kissing as he came, and his breath gusted into my mouth. As techniques go, ours sucked, but it was still the most perfect sex I'd ever experienced.

And then it was over, and I still had nowhere to escape to. I don't know what it was that set me off, perhaps just the knowledge that not even Jim's love could protect me from this. In any case, I found myself sobbing against Jim's chest, then howling, screaming with pain and anger and fear. I couldn't stop, couldn't control it at all, but Jim just held me, and I held onto him as though my life depended on it.

* * *

As soon as I woke, I knew there was something that just wasn't right. Actually, there were a lot of things. I rolled over and let my eyes wander around the room, the skylights, Jim...

Okay... I was in Jim's bed. With Jim. I certainly didn't remember coming up here, though I did remember what had happened before that. With Jim. It had seemed so right, at the time, but now I wondered whether things had been exactly the way I thought they were.

Jim wasn't giving anything away; he was obviously waiting for my lead. Probably hoping he wouldn't get cried on again. And that was unfair, but I was scared. I looked up at him again, and his hand stilled on my chest.

I swallowed. "So... um... was this some kind of pity fuck?"

He grinned wickedly, a disconcerting gleam in his eyes. "We haven't actually fucked yet."

Oh. I think my eyes must have been as big as the proverbial saucers. I smiled dazedly up at him. "So, you've... uh... you know, done this before?"

He shook his head calmly. "Nope. You?"

"Some. Not recently." I lifted a hand to touch his cheek. "Are you sure about this? I mean, it's not some kind of mid-life crisis, or anything?"

"It's not some kind of mid-life crisis." His voice was incredibly patient. He lifted my hand away from his cheek and inspected it for a moment, then sucked my index finger, stroking it slowly with his tongue. His eyes had that gleam again.

Men his age didn't just change their sexual orientation. I know it was stupid, and I was probably just light headed from lack of food, but I couldn't let it go. "Maybe it's some kind of Sentinel-Guide thing. I mean I've always wondered... after all, there they were... Sentinel and Guide, living on the outskirts of their society, probably not seeing too many women and all..."

His hand came down over my mouth. Okay, so I know I was babbling... but the expression on his face was enough to silence me, without resorting to a gag. There was laughter and irritation and more than a hint of resignation, but mostly there was just love. He lifted his hand, maybe an inch. I didn't make a sound. His hand came down beside my head, and he leaned over me until his face filled my entire field of vision.

He smiled, devastatingly. "Don't be stupid, Sandburg."

And then he kissed me.


End file.
